


The Beauty of a Winter Storm

by SlytherinHowl



Series: The Wounded Queen [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, Bitterness, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Loss, Comfort/Angst, Daenerys Targaryen-centric, Drama & Romance, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury Recovery, Isolation, Major Character Injury, Past Character Death, Post-Canon, Queen Daenerys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:36:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinHowl/pseuds/SlytherinHowl
Summary: Queen Daenerys Targaryen only saw death and despair in the glistening snowflakes. Who is to tell her that there is great beauty in them?





	The Beauty of a Winter Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this story to get some shit out of my system and force myself to look at the bright side of things, but I liked the result and decided to post it here. I hope you guys enjoy it too :). Ah, before I forget: 1) English is not my mother tongue and I'm really effin' tired right now, so I apologise for any big mistakes you may find and 2) I know jack shit about anatomy or medicine, so what is shown here might be entirely wrong and I would not know.

Queen Daenerys Targaryen never truly got used to the westerosi winter, truth be told. Even after ruling the Six Kingdoms for years, she still had far too many bad memories of the cold, biting wind beyond the Wall to see any beauty in the frozen landscapes and the falling snowflakes. Actually, Daenerys had far too many bad memories of basically everything to see or care about beauty in her surroundings as she limped around whatever was left of the Red Keep. The cold, besides everything else, made her badly-healed right kneecap ache just as it did when one of Cersei's mercenaries shattered her knee with a spear. Someone had come to her rescue, a Dothraki rider or an Unsullied or someone who did not want her dead. It might have been The King in The North himself, Daenerys honestly did not remember nor did she care to. _"Dumb fucker should have gone for the head straight away, never mind Cersei's stupid demand to have me alive. I would much rather be dead right now than have to deal with the shit this fucking court throws at me every day. **And** I would feel no pain,"_ she would think when the old wound decided to bother her. 

Daenerys learned soon enough not to voice her intimate thoughts to those around her. Most of her old allies died while fighting the Night King or left the mess at King's Landing for her to clean up. The three people Daenerys was left with were exactly those who would not leave her alone even if she ordered them to: Missandei of Naath, Tyrion Lannister and Jorah Mormont. They alone formed her small council, for Daenerys could not be bothered with finding additional members when she had more pressing matters at hand, namely the reconstruction of the Six Kingdoms. She needed sensible, rational minds to help her tackle her enormous task and the three did their jobs well. Too well. They thought it was also their job to be at her side at all times, watching over their queen as if she was incapable of doing anything on her own. Jorah was the worst of them, even though Missandei's pitiful glances got on Daenerys' nerves. _"If you think I am worthy of pity because of Jon Snow's passing, girl, think again."_

Jon Snow, it all amounted to Jon Snow. Daenerys had been atop of Drogon when the icy shadow of what used to be her poor Viserion struck Rhaegal midair, throwing Jon into the abyss. She mourned for him, mourned for what could have been. The red priestess had hinted that the offspring of their love would be the promised prince who would fight off the darkness. Daenerys was just as barren after her union with Jon as she was before and their youthful infatuation had no time to bloom into true love; Jon fell to his death in front of Daenerys and she could do nothing but let him fall, she had a war to win. Win the war she did, and she claimed the Iron Throne for herself. Her role as queen left her with little time to dwell on her past with Jon Snow, but she did think fondly of him, less often than people assumed she did. She had come quite close to loving him, and she lost him, much like most of what she had loved before. She chose her duty over her heart a long time ago, something her council did not seem to understand. 

Daenerys prided herself on her independence. She, an unmarried, young queen would rebuild Westeros and be a good ruler, alone. Before, back on Essos, she allowed her maids and counsellors snippets of her private self. She let Missandei braid her hair and braided hers in return, let Tyrion amuse her with his stories, let Jorah and Barristan guide her. She let Daario Naharis into her bed. That Daenerys was no more. She struggled in and out of her clothes, however much it hurt her knee but did it alone, she snapped at Tyrion when his speech took an irreverent tone, she fled from Jorah's reassuring touch. She rebuilt Westeros, and with the leftover steel and stone, she built a great wall around herself. 

This wall, however, sometimes made it hard for her to see imminent danger. Daenerys liked to walk around King's Landing, to make sure her people had means to live with. Her Queensguard would never allow her to do so alone, so her knights trailed behind her as she wobbled her way through the narrow streets, leaning heavily on her cane. She had a genuine affection for her people and did not fear them, but Jorah, the Lord Commander of her Queensguard, did. She often scolded him for walking too close to her, for steering her through the crowd with his hand on her shoulder. Daenerys always claimed that she was under no peril, until the day she was, eight years since the beginning of her rule. A blacksmith, discontented with having to foster orphaned children under the Queen's command, forged a sharp, clawed glove, which he intended to squeeze the Queen's throat with. She passed his shop one day, the Lord Commander to her right and another three knights a few metres behind. The man then pounced, swinging high and piercing the side of Daenerys' face instead of her throat. He quickly pulled his hand back and his claws left deep gushes that went from her eyebrow, lower eyelid and cheekbone to the back of her ear. 

The queen tumbled back with a piercing, anguished cry. Her face burned like wildfire and she could not see, her left eye throbbing as her iris went from soft violet to watery, hazy blue. Her brain could register nothing but the excruciating pain she was experiencing, and she frantically tried to stop the bleeding with her hands. Daenerys did not hear the pained growl Jorah let out, turning madly towards her attacker as if he had been hit himself. The knight, who had been about to pull his queen behind and draw his sword when the ruffian struck her, thrust his weapon into the man's leather-clad chest, breaking his ribs and his spine as the blade went all the way in and out through the blacksmith's back. He shoved the corpse out of his sword and hurried towards his beloved queen, pushing his fellow knights aside and taking her in his arms. He took her back to the Keep as fast as his horse would let him and rushed to find the maesters. He wished he could have the aid of the brilliant Samwell Tarly, but the man who cured him of his greyscale was at Winterfell at the request of Sansa Stark, Queen in the North. 

The maesters from King's Landing kept the queen under a deep sleep for the whole of a moon cycle, and Jorah, as well as Tyrion and Missandei, used every opportunity he had to stand by her bed, softly stroking her face. She finally woke one day, as Jorah's fingers traced the edges of the bandages wrapped around her face to cover the ugly scars left by the claws. Daenerys felt the pain returning to her instantly, yet stranger than that was the soft touch of Jorah's calloused fingers and the look of deep affection he had in his face. 

"What is the meaning of this, Ser Jorah?," she rasped, her throat far to dry for her voice to be commanding. 

"My queen, thank the Gods you're awake!," his voice wavered with emotion, "I've been watching over you ever since that bastard attacked you, for many times I feared you would never wake." 

"Have you been neglecting your duties as Lord Commander of the Queensguard?"

"N-No, my queen," he exclaimed, surprised and hurt by her harsh words, "I've simply been caring for you in my spare time, Daenerys." 

"I believe the maesters are capable of caring for me, _Ser_ Jorah, thank you very much. You may leave now," she said emphatically. The idea of Jorah Mormont touching her, caring for her, _loving_ her shook Daenerys to her very core. She made a point of not looking at him as the knight, wounded by her behaviour, apologized and shuffled out of the room. _"If I look at him, I will never let him leave. If he stays, I will get hurt again. I have had enough of getting hurt."_

Her recovery was slow and painful. She was trying to adjust to life with one eye and a disfigured face. She had never given much thought about her own beauty until she was confronted with the lack of it. The right side of her face remained intact, but the left was marred by a net of long red scars surrounding her blinded eye, painting her face with a ferocious, hellish glow. She realised at some point that she had been far too hard on her knight on the day of her awakening, so she tried to apologize to Jorah, which only ended up on a heated argument between the two, with him claiming that she had become a "cold, heartless shadow of the gentle Khaleesi I once knew" and her stating that "your 'love' for me is nothing but you love of young, pretty faces. Will you still love me now that I am no longer young and beautiful?" 

She thought he would resign from his post that very day, but he did not. The knight remained dutifully by her side as she went about her routine. He would stand on the far right corner of the throne room as Daenerys listened to the requests of her subjects, his sword unsheathed, ready to strike down anyone who tried to attack her again. She ignored him and sat straight on her throne, head held high and scars on display. Those situations were the only ones in which she thought she had absolute control of things and she loved it. She felt powerful and proud as each of her subjects bowed deeply and refused to meet her eyes, shaking in fear of their warrior queen. _"Drogo would be so proud of me, and Viserys? He would be **jealous**."_ The only instances when she let her stoic mask slip a little was when women brought their terrified children along with them to the palace. She could not help the shadow of a smile from passing her lips as she noticed young boys and girls being torn between hiding under their mother's skirts and trying to take a peek at the scars on Daenerys' face, believing she was indeed a dragon made human. She thought of Rhaego then, of how he would have been on his way of becoming a young man had he lived. In her head, she saw a tall boy, light-skinned but black of hair, heir of his father's strength. She rode with him through the fields until she was called back to the present and the images of her stillborn son faded into the cold throne room. 

Those sessions with her subjects were somewhat rewarding, yet exhausting. The winter reached its peak four years after the incident with the blacksmith and with it came the pain and the discomfort of sitting on the Iron Throne for hours on end and she slowly felt herself freeze. She usually held her council meetings in the mornings so that she could retire early, but on that particular day, her counsellors requested that the meeting should be held at night, possibly during supper. She begrudgingly accepted, not knowing that her knee would feel as if it was about to collapse and that she would nurse a headache throughout her day. As the doors to the throne room finally closed, Daenerys made her way to the meeting, feeling waves of pain ripple through her leg. She found her counsellors waiting for her to start dining on a heavy broth and brown bread. She never required much food, only that it was hot. Apparently, Missandei and Tyrion had some economic business to discuss, Jorah said something about trading ships, all important matters, of course, but the queen was so caught up in her pain and her cold sensation that she almost did not hear their words. She rose shakily, getting startled reactions from her counsellors. 

"You may continue, I simply wish to stand by the fire." 

She stiffly dragged herself to the fireplace. She made to stand, holding onto the mantelpiece, but her knee gave in under her weight and she flopped to the floor ungraciously and painfully. Jorah and Tyrion leaped from their seats, but Missandei was faster and got to the fireplace first. The former slave lowered herself into the floor to Daenerys' right and gently pulled both of her queen's legs into her lap, to the monarch's mild indignation. Before she could protest, however, Missandei lifted her eyebrow and lightly squeezed Daenerys' knee, as if challenging her to move. Jorah and Tyrion hovered over the two, worried by the queen's yelp. 

"Ser Jorah, would you sit behind Her Highness? She might need to lean onto something and you will do just fine, Ser," Missandei commanded calmly, To Daenerys' irritation. Tyrion smiled and took a seat near the fireplace, yet Jorah looked confusedly from Missandei to the smirking dwarf to his queen. Only when the translator turned her inquisitive gaze towards him did the knight comply. Daenerys was at a complete loss for words. 

"Now, I believe your pain has more to do with the accumulation of fluids around your knee than with the actual bone fracture. You went walking yesterday, yes?," She asked, placidly looking at the queen. Daenerys' nodded once, still displeased, "ah, that explains it. From what I know, the maesters managed to glue your kneecap back together, more or less, but the nerves around it were damaged. It sometimes causes fluid to get into the joints. I know a few tricks to drain it, I've had it myself." 

Daenerys watched as the other woman moved her hands from her knee to her thigh and started massaging her flesh in a way that had her hissing in pain. She involuntarily tipped her body back and was met with Jorah's strong hands. The pain was so strong that she did not object when the knight gingerly lowered her head into his lap nor when Tyrion scooted closer, holding her hand in his. The twinges in her leg were still there, but the more Missandei's hands moved over Daenerys' leg, the weaker each of them was. Only when the pain subsided significantly did she realise she had buried her face in Jorah's stomach and that he was stroking her hair. She tried to sit up, but all three held her in place. 

"Relax, Daenerys. We will not hurt on purpose, ever. Relax, silly girl, we're here to help you," Tyrion said warmly as he traced the scar on her ruined left eyebrow. Her good eye scanned their faces, the white strands in their hair and beards, the wrinkles, the soft smiles. It was as if she was seeing them for the first time in all those years, seeing them for what they truly were: her friends, her companions. 

"I've wanted to do this for you for a long time now, Daenerys, but I always feared I would cross a line. Ever since the war, you pushed people away from. You thought we were condescending but all we were trying to do was support a friend in those trying times," Missandei whispered and Daenerys felt the unfamiliar pang of tears in her eyes. 

"Why did you stay?," she asked with a cracked voice. 

"Because we believe in you, my dear. Because we know you fight for what is right. Because you are the fairest, most committed queen the Seven Kingdoms have had in a long time. You are Stannis Baratheon with a heart, however much you try to hide it," Tyrion said, kissing the back of the hand he still held. 

Daenerys did not quite get the full effect of the joke, having heard of the Baratheon lord ages ago, but Jorah did seem to understand it, for he chuckled and smiled. The low sound rumbled in Daenerys' ear and she turned her teary gaze towards him, who had been quiet until that moment, content with stroking her hair. He looked at her with the same unbridled affection of four years prior, standing beside her as she woke, albeit in that moment his smile had not been concealed by the thick white beard that hid most of his face. 

"We stayed because you are more than just a pretty face, Khaleesi." 

She felt the small cracks spreading through her well-built wall as those three people struck it hard. Her tears fell and she felt the oppressive feeling of being unprotected. She needed her wall to keep herself safe and strong and powerful, she needed to shoo the intruders away but her body had sunk into their embrace and she felt too tired to fight them off. It would take time before the whole thing collapsed on top of her, but the lion, the bear and the very smart woman leading them would not rest until they left no stone unturned. She would fight that battle until the end, even though she knew on that moment that the war would be lost. 

A whole year went by and the three steadfast warriors managed to significantly weaken Daenerys' defenses. Her leg was much better, for Missandei was taking good care of it. The queen learned not to flinch at the woman's touch and scrutinizing gaze. Missandei would talk of her own sorrows, of the things she kept hidden in her own mind and from time to time Daenerys learned to do the same. Just small clues, hints about herself. Tyrion would soon start learning these little secrets as well. She would sit and hear him talk as well, sometimes even crack a smile at his jokes. A voice in the back of her head kept telling her that she should never let her guard down like that, but she was growing more and more sure that she _should_. With Jorah, however, she would hardly talk. She tried, but Daenerys needed only to look into his deep blue eyes to have the words die in her throat. He knew everything there was to know. He knew _her_. She then simply took deep breaths and let herself lean heavily into him as they rode or walked across town. The only instances when her little voice would shut up completely were when they rode together, her smaller body nestled into his bigger one, tightly wrapped around his fur cloak and his arms. 

That day was like any other, cold and frosty outside of the Red Keep's windows. The wind howled wildly and snowflakes fell, creating a hazy curtain of white all around the city. Daenerys could not focus on her paperwork, so she draped a thick black cloak around herself and left her study, walking aimlessly around her castle. Her feet took her to a vast balcony overlooking the frozen gardens. She had certainly walked past this balcony a number of times, yet had never been drawn to it as she was in that moment. She never liked being out during snowfalls, as it reminded her too much of the dreadful white walkers beyond the Wall, but the setting she stood in was different. The snowflakes swirled around her graciously and shone in the weak light. Most of them were big enough for her to see the intricate patterns each had. She had never noticed that they were different, let alone beautiful. Indeed, they were, and so was the white garden and the castle and the whole city, covered in snow. 

"Khaleesi! Come inside!," Jorah hurried towards her, his armour clanging under his thick cloak. 

The half-smile that had graced her lips turned into a full one as she saw the worried frown on her knight's face. She gathered some snow from the railing next to her, compacted it with her hands and swiftly hurled the ball at his chest. Jorah stopped in his tracks, completely dumbfounded and her smile widened a little bit more. She raised her eyebrow and cocked her head to the side as if expecting him to play along, but the knight stood there, confused. She sighed and threw another two snowballs at him. He finally retaliated with a small ball to her shoulder and she felt laughter bubbling inside of her. They laughed together as Jorah finally reached his queen, who looked glorious in the pale winter light. 

"For someone with one good eye you are particularly good at this, Your Highness," he joked, removing a snowflake from her nose, "what were you doing here alone? It's tea time." 

Inside of her, a great rumbling sound could be heard. Her wall was giving in, not because her attackers were finally successful in breaking her protections down, but because she had gathered all her courage and walked towards the very edge of the wall, where a worn-out stone was standing in place out of sheer luck. Daenerys placed both bare hands on the stone and gave it a mighty push. From the hole came a flash of light that blinded her other eye for a few moments, but then she started making out shapes and colours. She saw Jorah, standing in the balcony and looking younger and happier than he had ever looked. She stretched her fingers and touched his fluffy beard, smiling softly. Daenerys tugged him down and lightly brushed her lips against his before drawing back to stare at his joyful face. 

"I was just appreciating the beauty of a winter storm."

**Author's Note:**

> Where's ~~Waldo~~ the misquoted song lyric?


End file.
